


Of Cunning Plans and Wetsuits

by Mei (Mei_Hitokiri)



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-20
Updated: 2013-04-20
Packaged: 2017-12-09 00:39:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 757
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/767959
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mei_Hitokiri/pseuds/Mei
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock decides to go for a swim, and gets a bit stuck.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Of Cunning Plans and Wetsuits

**Author's Note:**

> I'm not going to say this is one of my better pieces. To be honest, it's somewhere between crack and fluff. I suppose it's Johnlock if you want to read it that way.
> 
> I'm not a physicist, so I have no idea if it's a vacuum that's created when you try to peel one off; I just know it feels like one. Seriously, ask anybody that does a water-sport. They're damned hard to remove. The events are loosely based on a personal experience trying to get out of a suit. I had a bruise on my elbow for weeks, and I'd have given my mate a black eye if they hadn't ducked.
> 
> Anyhow. Read on, comment if you'd like (it really is appreciated; especially ways in which I could improve), enjoy it.
> 
> ~Mei

**Of Cunning Plans and Wetsuits**

John looked over his shoulder at the loud bang of the door. He raised an eyebrow.

“Tedious?” Sherlock pulled a face.

“Surprisingly not, though it is damned uncomfortable.” John sighed and levered himself from his chair.

“I’ll get you a towel, don’t move.” As he passed the kitchen, he flicked on the kettle, and then grabbed a towel from one of the cupboards. He threw it at Sherlock. “Get yourself cleaned up. I’ll make you a cuppa… and fetch you some clothes.” Sherlock huffed and strode into the bathroom.

 

John looked at the pulled of Thames water on the floor, then threw a tea-towel on it. He hadn’t asked – hadn’t wanted to know – what had required Sherlock to go out around London in a wetsuit, but it seemed he’d done whatever he’d needed to. Really, John thought to himself, it was a wonder Sherlock hadn’t been arrested. The suit had left nothing to the imagination; even less so now that it was wet. And John’s imagination hadn’t needed visual confirmation to get carried away with itself.

 

The kettle had boiled, so John set about making tea. He’d just stirred in Sherlock’s sugar when the odd noises started. At first it was just soft grunts and the occasional curse. John resolutely ignored it, though he was in half a mind to ask Sherlock to at least put the shower on. He removed the tea bags and poured in the milk, then carried his mug to the sofa. The loud bang that came next made him start so badly that the scalding liquid sloshed over onto his hand. He didn’t jump with the next bang – partly because he was running cold water over smarting skin – though he wondered what in God’s name Sherlock was doing in the bathroom. It sounded like he’d hit the bath, though with his earlier noises that made very little sense.

“John!” The doctor sighed wearily and turned off the tap. Knowing Sherlock, he’d probably tried experimenting on himself and gotten something lodged where it really shouldn’t be.

“What?” There was another grunt, followed rapidly by a bang.

“Just… come here!” Sherlock sounded oddly out of breath, and John approached the bathroom warily.

“Why?”

“I… I need your help, dammit!” That made him pause. He really hoped he’d read this wrong, and studiously ignored the part of his brain that took great delight in calling him a filthy liar. He cautiously pushed open the bathroom door, and stopped dead with what he saw.

 

“Don’t you dare laugh.” John bit his lip as his face turned red, shoulders shaking as he tried to hold in his laughter. Sherlock was contorted into an awkward shape, wetsuit undone but plastered to his body.

“What have you done?!” John couldn’t contain the giggle that bubbled over.

“I am stuck.” Sherlock pouted. “Will you stop laughing and help me out of this thing?” John relented and approached Sherlock. The zip was mostly undone, but he tugged it down the last few inches.

“Right. Brace against the wall and stand on the mat. The last thing either of us needs is a broken bone.” He started with the left arm, tugging it over Sherlock’s hand. “Christ. What have you done to this?” Sherlock huffed.

“When neoprene gets wet, it creates a layer of water between itself and the skin. This heats up and acts as an insulator. One of the side effects is the creation of a vacuum as it’s removed, making it extremely difficult to get out of.”

“Right.” John gave a particularly sharp tug on the suit’s sleeve. Sherlock’s arm was released with a slick squelch, his elbow flying backwards into the wall with a sharp crack. Sherlock grimaced, but gave no other indication of pain. “That’s one down. Other arm.” He repeated the motion, though Sherlock had braced enough this time that whilst he didn’t smash his elbow into the wall, he did nearly punch John in the face. Fortunately, the doctor was spry enough that he ducked under the wildly swinging fist. “There you go. I’m sure you can deal with the rest yourself.”

“Indeed.  Thank you.” John nodded and backed out, quelling the image of Sherlock peeling the wetsuit off his seemingly endless legs.

 

John never did find out why Sherlock decided to go swimming in the Thames, which was probably a good thing. Although the detective decided that, for his next experiment on his good doctor, he’d ask him to take the whole thing off.

And maybe wait until summer.


End file.
